


Silver

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, PTSD Sherlock, Platonic Cuddling, Post-His Last Vow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John easily falls back into Sherlock's orbit, but a nightmare shows how much has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver

It hadn’t taken much for John’s life to return to it’s orbit around Sherlock. But, ever since moving back in with him, John had become aware the detective was moving cautiously around him. They took up cases here and there, but John knew Magnussen was foremost on Sherlock's mind.

But there were other things now. Sherlock actually slept, or at least retreated to his room. John had taken up his old room. Some days it felt like nothing had ever happened, that Sherlock had never thrown himself violently out of John's life. That the two years of emptiness had never happened. Mary rarely crossed his mind, or the child she carried. John had taken off his ring and left it on his nightstand. Sherlock had assured him he was working on a plan and that was enough for John.

This night, John crept downstairs in the wee hours to use the loo. As he finished, a soft sound from Sherlock's room made him turn. Sherlock's door to the en suite was slightly ajar. John moved forward to push it open the rest of the way.

Moonlight and streetlight lit the room from the window. Sherlock was curled into a ball, hands over his head as if protecting himself. He was crying. John's heart stopped in his chest. He knew PTSD, knew nightmares. He didn’t know what had happened to Sherlock over those two years, but he'd never heard him having a nightmare before.

"Sherlock," John quietly called his name as he crossed to the foot of the bed. "Sherlock," he repeated, louder. The blankets were bunched around the detective’s ankles and his shirt had ridden up the curve of his spine. The detective whimpered and curled a little tighter. John sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Sherlock," he said reaching a hand towards him.

He stopped as his eyes fell on Sherlock's back. Faded scars were visible in the dim light, tracking up his back to disappear under his shirt. Like lines of lightning. Or a brutal whip.

Shivering, John got up and walked around to the other side of the bed. Taking a breath, he slid under the covers and settled on his back. Sherlock sniffled and rolled over, one hand reaching over to rest a hand on John's chest. The detective sighed and seemed to move into better dreams. John watched him a bit longer before drifting off again himself.

When John woke the next morning, Sherlock was no longer next to him. Stretching, John used the loo before finding the detective on (John's) laptop. John fixed tea and prepared to face the day.

Neither of them spoke of it. They went through their day but instead of trudging up the stairs at the end of it, John stripped down to boxers and t-shirt and climbed into Sherlock's bed. The detective watched him for a long moment, then climbed in after him. He lay on his back, but after a few minutes he rolled towards John, settling with his head on John's shoulder. John tucked his arm around Sherlock’s back. He could feel those silent scars under his arm and held him a little tighter.

Weeks passed. John spent his night in Sherlock's bed, but everything proceeded as usual during the day. Christmas was approaching and when Sherlock came to John with a plan, the ex-soldier didn't take it well. "You want me to make up with Mary?" It felt like he'd been slapped. "She _shot_ you."

"Everyone will be at my parent's house for Christmas. We need her there as well." Sherlock's voice was calm but there was something in his eyes.

John stared at him for a long minute. "All right."

"Bring your gun," said Sherlock as he turned away.

Christmas Eve, John put on his wedding ring and tried to sleep in his own bed.

When he got up in the morning, John had the fear that he'd go downstairs and find Sherlock gone, that the last months had only been a dream. He dressed slowly. The light caught the ring on his finger and he looked at it. With a sigh he slipped his gun into his jacket and headed down to start the day.

Sherlock was adjusting the fairy lights on the small tree Mrs. Hudson had insisted on bringing into the flat. He turned and looked John over. Nervously, he took a small box from the stocking and handed it over. "Open it later," he insisted.

Wondering, John slipped the box into his other pocket.

Everything went to hell that day. Later that night, with Sherlock in custody, John accompanied Mary back to the flat they'd once shared. Numb, John hung his coat up on it's old peg. Mary waddled into the bedroom and John looked after her. Sherlock had assured John that the child wasn't his, however there would probably always be a lingering doubt. But Sherlock had said to make up and stay close to her, so he followed her into the bedroom and lay next to her, staring at the ceiling.

All too soon, he was preparing to go to the tarmac. Mary was in the kitchen as he put on his jacket. His hand felt the box. Glancing to make sure Mary was distracted, he took the box into the loo and locked the door.

The present was wrapped with precision. He carefully opened it and found a ring box. The box itself seemed to be made of the same pattern as Baker Street's wallpaper. John had to sit down as he opened it.

A ring. A silver ring. Blinking back his emotions, he took it out Text got his attention and he turned so he could read the inscription on the inside. "Could be dangerous." John gave a short laugh. Sentiment. Apparently Sherlock had learned something of it. Sadly, he stuck the ring in his jeans pocket, took the wrapping and stashed it somewhere he hoped Mary wouldn't find it. Mary's ring remained on his finger as they went to say goodbye.

Sherlock was barely holding it together. John smiled, tried to be brave for both of them. Neither of them spoke the words they really wanted to say. In the end, Sherlock turned and went onto the plane. John watched it take off from inside the car. Suddenly the plane turned around. He frowned, wondering what on earth was going on.

Maybe he should have known it was Moriarty. Mary vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared, as if the removal of Magnussen and the threat of Moriarty had removed whatever was keeping her in John’s life. Eventually Moriarty’s trail went cold too, until finally Sherlock was forced to put it on the back burner.

So in the end, it was back to Baker Street. Mycroft came by when Sherlock was gone and handed John the paperwork that would end his marriage to Mary. He signed it without a second thought. When Sherlock came home, he found John in his chair reading the newspaper like nothing had happened. John set it aside and smiled up at him. Sherlock’s eyes fell on the silver ring John wore.

Taking a deep breath, John stood. Sherlock seemed skittish, as if he might bolt at the slightest provocation. John walked to him and took his hands, rubbing his thumbs along the back of them. Sherlock studied his face. With a warm smile, John leaned up and kissed him, very gently.

Sherlock didn’t react. John pulled back and watched him, uncertain if he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have. Then Sherlock pulled him into his arms, holding him close, sniffing his hair. John smiled and simply kept his arms around his waist.

They went back to sharing a bed. There were a few stolen kisses here or there, but physically their relationship remained at a simmer. That was fine by John. They took their cases and John worked and their lives resumed the normal pattern, feeling as right as they ever had.

Late in the spring, John left a silver ring for Sherlock next to his experiments in the kitchen. In it he had transcribed two words: _You could._ When he returned from work that day, Sherlock was wearing it. John walked over and fixed tea and said nothing else about it.

That night, when they prepared to go to bed, Sherlock started stripping in the bedroom instead of hiding in the bathroom like he usually did. Clearly anxious, he left his shirt off and looked at John. The bullet scar on his chest was still fairly fresh, but John didn’t focus on that. Instead he walked over and trailed his fingers up the scars on Sherlock’s back. Shuddering, Sherlock turned to him and rested his head on his shoulder.

John held him for a few minutes, then helped him into bed. Silently, he kissed Sherlock and drew him into his arms. For his part, Sherlock seemed to be focused on his breathing. Eventually he nodded off. John held him close until he fell asleep himself.

A nightmare came late in the night. Sherlock thrashed and hit John. There was the taste of blood, but John caught his hand and held it, whispering soothing words until slowly Sherlock opened his pale eyes, fear still writ large in the pale eyes. Cautiously, Sherlock’s hand reached up to cup his cheek and run a thumb along his lip. John watched him, squeezing his hand.

They didn’t speak-didn’t need to. John turned Sherlock’s hand and kissed just above the ring. A faint smile crossed Sherlock’s face. Emboldened, John leaned up and kissed him. Sherlock put a hand on John’s chest and he stopped, pulling back and watching. Sherlock shook his head. Nodding, John lay back down and Sherlock curled up on his chest. Whenever Sherlock was ready, no matter how long it took, or if it never happened, John would simply be content to be by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to letalkingmime and conductoroftardislight. You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
